


I Got You

by Aifrit



Series: Apex Rarepair Week 2020 [3]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bathtubs, Cute, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/F, Nudity, Overprotective, Relationship(s), Sick Character, Sickfic, Voidstrike, mentions of vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26901211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aifrit/pseuds/Aifrit
Summary: The first time Anita's been sick in years and she's knocked on her ass by the flu. Good thing for her a special someone is there to take care of her.
Relationships: Bangalore | Anita Williams/Wraith | Renee Blasey
Series: Apex Rarepair Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955986
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	I Got You

**Author's Note:**

> Title: I Got You  
> Pairing: Bangalore/Wraith (Voidstrike)  
> Rating: T for language  
> Prompt: Taking Care (Sickfic)  
> Words: 1440  
> A/N: Written for Apex Rarepair Week on Tumblr. Enjoy!

Anita hasn’t been sick in eight years. Not since she turned thirty, and even then, it was only food poisoning. Friends and coworkers dragged her out to celebrate at Hollygroove’s renowned sushi restaurant. Woke up the next morning to the worst vomiting and diarrhea spell of her life. Swore off sushi for five years after. She doesn’t count it, not officially, but it’s the last time she recalls that isn’t from childhood.

Anita. Never. Gets. Sick.

Until now.

Bullshit.

She lies back in the bathtub, nearly submerged in lukewarm water. The lingering odor of the peppermint bath bomb burns her sinuses but allows her to breathe clearly — quite the feat for the past twenty-four hours. But, it’s _peppermint_. She despises that acrid, wintery stench, and wiping the persistent scowl off her face proves more difficult as time passes.

Wraith's idea.

Wraith sits curled up next to the tub, hair tied back in a loose and lazy half-ponytail. Anita’s dragon-adorned muscle shirt hangs off her upper half, her own heather-grey sweatpants covering her bottom half. Her phone rests propped up on the side of the tub, playing some loud, dramatically-styled animation that surprisingly hasn’t annoyed Anita after… three episodes? Wraith’s sucked in, sunken-in eyes trained on the bright colors and grotesque transformation sequence of this monster-of-the-week monstrosity of a show.

“Oh shit, that’s new…” she mumbles to herself.

Is it? Anita’s attention wavered an episode and a half ago. Hard to focus when her brain pounds against her skull and her entire body burns like a malfunctioning furnace. The shivers haven’t subsided either. They wrack her body in waves, rippling cloudy bathwater around her. Not to mention the muscle aches. Her obliques and back and thighs and shoulders throb something fierce, and not in the pleasurable post-workout burn type of way. She’s miserable, dejected, and exhaustedly weak, and all the positive effects from the once-piping-hot bath have long since worn off.

The credits roll on the animation and a prompt pops up for the next episode. Wraith pauses it and rests her chin on the side of the tub, staring at Anita as she smiles sympathetically.

"You okay?"

"No," Anita rasps.

"Ready to get out?" she asks with a gentle tilt of her head.

"I'm ready to _pass_ out. For like five days. Everything hurts."

Wraith dips a fingertip in the tub. "Yeah, this water's freezing. Time to get you out." She moves her phone to the sink countertop and grabs the clean washcloth. She hesitates, tips her head a few degrees, “You want to or…?”

Anita’s ears and cheeks sear at the insinuation. She leans forward, slowly, reaching for the washcloth, but the world spins around her as she does. She screws her eyes shut. Takes a deep breath to recenter.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it." Wraith lathers the cloth with some fancy body wash Anita knows she doesn't own. "Can you sit up okay?”

Anita huffs. She grips the side of the tub for support. _Pulls_ herself forwards to a sitting position and winces. It's difficult, her muscles screaming for her to stop, but if she stops moving long enough and trains her eyes to one spot, namely on Wraith, she'll survive. "Kinda."

"Don't worry. I got you." And with that, Wraith, soapy washcloth in hand, settles at the crook of Anita's neck.

Anita's nostrils flare as she relaxes and closes her eyes. She savors the touch at her neck, under her jaw, around her back and shoulders, and under her breasts. The water's cool against her hot, sensitive skin, every glide of Wraith's hand filling her with renewed vigor. The soap's aroma, lavender, overpowers the stink of peppermint. For a fleeting moment, the agony and pain of the last twenty-four hours subsides.

Still, guilt strikes her in the chest, and her eyes flutter open to fix her gaze on Wraith. Anita _hates_ being dependent. Always been one to enjoy taking care of her loved ones. Always took care of herself, too. But this? This is… pathetic. Can’t move half an inch without dizzy spells. Stomach rides close to the edge of vomiting. She feels… useless.

"What's with the sad puppy eyes?" Wraith asks. “Arms up.”

"Should have gone to your match today." Hard to keep the bile down. She inhales slowly, then exhales. Repeats the process. It subsides, for now.

"What do you mean? And” — Wraith recoils and grimaces as her eyes flash white — “ _please_ don't throw up on me again?"

Anita ponders. Question’s obvious, but is the clarification worth it? Does it even matter?

Wraith lathers the washcloth again. "Bang, it's just us. Talk to me."

She attempts an eye roll but even that hurts. She settles for a sigh instead. "You don't have to stay here. Takin' care of me like this."

"You're right. I don't." Blunt and direct when it matters, but that's Wraith. "But I am. I'm here because I care about you. And I know you'd do this for me twenty times over if given the chance."

The scowl on Anita's face dissipates, the tight tug of a genuine smile emerging in its wake. Wraith's words melt her on the inside and for the span of five seconds, nothing on planet Solace is wrong or out of place. When Wraith scrubs her ribs and mid-back, the dejection and doubt return.

"Still feel bad, though. Can't imagine it was easy gettin' that across to Young."

"You feel bad for having the shit kicked out of you from the flu?" Wraith clicks her tongue. “It _happens_ , Bang. And don’t worry about Jacob. He and I had an… _understanding_. If you wanna call it that."

The mischievous smirk on Wraith's face conjures too many possibilities and scenarios in Anita’s head. Curious as a cat, even as Wraith's gliding hand over her belly and hips beneath the water elicit a flinch from her.

"Babe" — Wraith hesitates, blue eyes dilating at the mention of her pet name — "what did you say?"

Wraith stops, lets the washcloth drift to the bottom of the tub beside Anita's thigh. She chuckles to herself, a smug "do you really wanna know" expression playing across full lips. If Anita didn't know Wraith well by now, she'd assume a civil discussion. But that's not how Wraith is. The claws unsheath when she wants something badly enough. Or if anyone dares drive a wedge between them.

"Well, I went to his office yesterday and we spoke. And by 'spoke,' I mean I may have yelled at him. And by 'yelled at him,' I mean I may or may not have threatened to gouge his eyes out and feed them to his Prowler pup. So, my match is postponed until tomorrow evening, which means… I get to take care of you for longer."

The flutters in Anita's belly force a burning blush out of her. Neither have shied away from seeing the other at their absolute worst — anxiety attacks and episodes, drunkenness and hangovers. God, Anita loves this woman with every fragment of her soul.

"If I weren't so sick, I'd kiss you."

Wraith chuckles. "If you weren't so sick, I'd kiss you back." She grazes wet fingers down Anita's jaw, coaxing her forwards to plant lips on Anita's forehead. "You're burning up, by the way. Let's get you out for real this time."

Anita hums as Wraith fishes for the washcloth. With careful, diligent hands, Wraith washes the rest of her body. The water's cold now, and with each drop that trickles down her back and chest, she longs to be out of the water and back in comfortable clothing.

Anita fights through vertigo when she's pulled out of the bath, shivers as she stands naked and freezing and dripping. Wraith towels her down from head to toe and helps her into underwear, sweatpants, and a t-shirt. With patience and slow, timed breathing, Anita ambles to the couch where she lies halfway on Wraith's lap, blanket draped over her.

Wraith grazes the back of her head, the nape of her neck. Tender and caring and sweet as always. She whispers about ordering food or at least making ginger tea — Anita objects — but gently chides that she should hydrate and get her stomach settled.

It's the truth and there's no denying it — the burning and freezing, dizziness, muscle aches and sour stomach — it's all there.

Anita acquiesces, a curt grunt and groan that conveys her annoyance and discomfort. Wraith coos, calms her with a gentle hand across her arm and shoulder. A simple caress proves to be all she needs to know that she's loved, that's she seen and heard.

That she's taken care of.


End file.
